The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (35 page)

“It is true,” agreed the healer.

“Then I shall add to your joy with a piece of good advice.”

“Advice as well? Why have you helped me as you have?”

“I have done so because you have a warm heart and desire to do good. To heal people is better than to destroy them.
Men who do goodwill ever find friends in any land,
whether it be in this world or the Otherworld.”

“I thank you for your help. Now tell me your advice.”

“When the Princess of the Fomorii is healed, the King of the Fomorii will offer you a choice of many rich rewards. Take no reward that he offers, but ask only for the boat to convey you
homeward.”

Diarmuid was a little surprised, but he nodded. “You have been a true friend to me, little man. I shall follow this advice for, truly, my healing is a gift to help others and not sold for
reward.”

So he bade farewell to the little brown man and returned to the great golden palace of the King of the Fomorii.

The Princess Muirgen was still alive but pale and listless. Yet she registered surprise when he came into her room bearing the Cup of Healing.

“No man has ever achieved what you have achieved,” she said.

“Only for your sake have I done this.”

“I feared that you would never return.”

So Diarmuid mixed the healing potion, adding the three pinches of red sphagnum moss to the healing water. The princess thrice drank, sipping the three healing drops. When the last drop was
swallowed, she sat up and was quite well.

There was great joy throughout the castle and a feast was prepared and entertainers came to provide music and merriment. Sorrow was put away and laughter returned to the castle of the
Fomorii.

During the feast, the King of the Fomorii turned to Diarmuid and said: “You may have whatever reward it is in my gift to give you. What will you have? I will give you all the gold and
silver you desire; you can marry my daughter and become heir to my kingdom.”

Diarmuid shook his head sadly. “If I married your daughter, I could not return to my own land above the waves.”

“True enough. But here you would spend many happy days and would be honoured by everyone.”

Diarmuid shook his head again. “I have only one thing to ask of you, King of the Fomorii.”

“Ask away. I promise to give you whatever you want.”

“Then all I want is the boat to return me to the ship of the Feans from whence I came. My own land is dear to me, as are my kinsmen and friends, the Feans. Above all, my loyalty lies to
Fingal, who is my chief.”

“Then,” said the King of the Fomorii, “What you desire is yours.”

The entire palace came with Diarmuid to the boat and the Princess Muirgen took him aside and held his hand a moment.

“I shall never forget you, Diarmuid. You found me in suffering and gave me relief. You found me dying and gave me life. When you are back in your own land, remember me; I shall never pass
an hour of life without thinking of you in joy and thankfulness.”

Then Diarmuid stepped into the boat, and the boatman, who was the very same man as had come with the news of the Princess Muirgen’s illness, began to row him upwards from the Land Beneath
the Waves. Soon they came to the warship of the Feans. The ship was resting where they had left it, near the Eas-Ruaidh, the Red Cataract. The Feans saw him coming and came crowding round as he
climbed up.

“What is the matter?” cried Oscar, coming forward. “Did you forget something?”

“You must not tarry,” advised Goll, frowning. “The Princess is in danger.”

When Diarmuid expressed his puzzlement at their concerns, Fingal told him that he had been gone but a few seconds. Then Diarmuid understood.

“I have been in the Land under the Waves for many Otherworld days, each day being a second of the time passed here. In the land that I visited, there is no night nor day to guide the
keeping of time. Anyway, the Princess Muirgen is now alive and well and glad I am to be home among you.”

Then the Feans raised sail, rejoicing, and continued in their warship until they came to the great fortress which was their home, and they feasted and celebrated the homecoming of Diarmuid the
Healer.

16 Maighdean-mhara

T
here are mermaids and there are sea-maids, and the one must not be confused with the other. Mermaids can be winsome creatures, sometimes
mischievous but never evil. But sea-maids, well, there’s another kettle of fish. Avoid them, as your life depends on it; indeed, sometimes it will be more than your life that is at stake. The
story of Murdo Sean is an example of that.

It happened long ago near Inverary, which stands on the shores of Loch Fyne, in Argyll. Inverary was once a great fishing town. Have you ever seen its town arms and its motto? “May there
always be a herring in your net!” Aye, it was famed for the herring catch and its kippers, too.

Above the town, on Duniquaich Hill, stood the watchtower of the Campbells of Loch Awe, whose castle rose black against the sky. For they say that the race of the “Crooked Mouth”,
which is the meaning of the Campbell name, owned the town and its people.

It happened that there was a period of poor times in the town, when the fish were not running in the waters thereabouts. Fish were more scarce than gold; indeed, not even gold could buy fish in
the market of Inverary. Still, the Campbells demanded their rents and tithes from the people and there was much suffering there.

Among the fishermen out one day was Murdo Sean, or Murdo the Old, and he had no better luck than any. For weeks, his nets had come in as empty as he had cast them out. He was in despair. For the
bailiff of the Campbells had sworn
that, if he did not pay his rent, he and his ageing wife would be cast out of his cottage, where he and his ancestors had dwelt for many
hundreds of years. His old mare and his old bitch dog would be taken away as the property of the Campbells.

Sadness was on him like a black rain cloud, when he felt his boat being rocked and, turning, he saw a sea-maid, leaning over the bow of his vessel. Yes: a sea-maid and not a mermaid.

“If I fill your nets with fish, old man,” she inquired, “What will you give me?”

Murdo Sean shrugged eloquently. “There is nothing I have to give.”

The sea-maid regarded him speculatively. “What about your first-born son?”

Murdo Sean laughed outright. “I have no son. At my age, I am not likely to have one.”

Indeed, he was called
sean
, which means old, because he was the oldest man in Inverary.

“Tell me about your family,” invited the sea-maid, still interested.

“As well as myself, there is my wife, who is well past childbearing age, being only a few years younger than myself. Then there is my old mare and my old bitch dog. Another few years
should see us all in the Otherworld, if not before, because this evening we shall be evicted by the mighty lords who dwell in the castle above the town.”

“Not so,” replied the sea-maid firmly. And she took from a purse around her waist twelve curious-looking grains. “Take these grain, old man. Give three to your wife, three to
your mare and three to your bitch dog and plant three behind your house. In three months’ time, your wife will bear three sons, your mare three foals, your bitch dog three puppies and behind
your house three trees will grow.”

Murdo Sean laughed. “You are joking with me, sea-maid. And why would my garden be in need of trees?”

“Not I,” she replied sternly. “Indeed, the trees will be a sign. When one of your sons dies, one of the trees will wither. Away home with you now, and do as I say.”

Murdo Sean laughed bitterly. “How can I do this, when my wife and I will be thrown out of our cottage tonight?”

“Cast your nets into the water. Your nets will henceforth be full of fish and you will prosper well and live a long life. But remember me. In three years’ time, you will bring me
your first-born son as my reward. Do you agree?”

Well, Murdo Sean had nothing to lose and so he agreed.

Now, of course, everything happened as the sea-maid had promised it would. He took home that day enough fish to pay the bailiff of the Campbells. Not only that day but thereafter.

The fisherman and his wife had three sons, the mare had three foals, the dog three puppies and three trees grew in his garden. But what is more, the fisherman’s nets were always full of
fish and he was prosperous and grew rich and happy. Indeed, he became very prosperous in Inverary and became independent of the Campbells entirely.

Three years passed and he knew that the time had come to repay the sea-maid. Yet he could not find it in his heart to take his first-born son to sea to give him to her.

When the time approached, he was out in his boat again when it started to rock. There at the prow was the sea-maid, leaning over the edge and regarding him with a serious expression. The old
fisherman noticed that she was carrying an infant of three years of age in her arms.

“Well, Murdo Sean,” she said, “the time has come. Where is your first born son?”

Murdo Sean thought hard. “Is it today that my three years are up? I had forgotten that this was the day I should bring him. Forgive me.”

The sea-maid was clearly annoyed but she sighed and said: “I will be lenient with you, Murdo Sean, for I have in my arms the son of another fisherman who has fulfilled his promise to me
and I cannot handle the both. I will allow you seven years more, and then you must bring him to me.”

Murdo Sean continued to prosper and, seven years later, he was on his boat when it rocked and there at the prow looking at him was the sea-maid. She carried in her arms a boy of ten years of
age.

“Well, Murdo Sean, where is your son?”

“Oh dear, is this the day I should have brought him to you? I had forgotten entirely.”

The sea-maid looked at him in annoyance and then sighed. “I will be lenient with you, Murdo Sean, for I have in my arms the son of another fisherman who has fulfilled his promise to me and
I cannot handle the both. I will allow you a further seven years. But no longer.”

She dived off into the water and was gone.

Murdo Sean returned home very happy, for he was now so old that he was sure that he would be dead before the next seven years passed and that he would never again have to face the sea-maid. But,
indeed, he and his wife continued well and prosperous. The seven years passed in the blink of an eye and the day soon arrived when he was due to take his first-born and give him to the sea-maid.
The night before, he was troubled and restless and he sent for his first-born son, who was now seventeen; and, at seventeen, according to custom, the boy had reached the
aimsir togú
or “age of choice”, when he was a man.

Murdo Sean told his son, who was called Murdo Òg, or Young Murdo, everything about the sea-maid.

“I will go and confront this sea-maid, father,” he said, for he was a proud young man and no coward. “I will confront her and spare you the consequences of not handing me over
to her.”

But Murdo Sean pleaded with him not to go, for he knew the power of the sea-maid.

“Well, then, if I am not to face her, then I must arm myself and leave Inverary.”

And he went to Gobhan, the smith, and asked the man to make him as fine a sword as possible.

Now the first sword Gobhan made was too light, and the metal blade broke, splintering into fragments, when the young man tried it out. Then the second blade broke clean in two halves. But the
third stood the young man’s testing. Satisfied, Murdo Òg took the night-black horse, the first-born from his father’s old mare, and the black dog, the first-born of his
father’s old bitch dog, and he set off on the road away from Inverary.

He was not far along the road around Loch Fyne when he came across the carcass of a deer which had been freshly slain. There was no sign of anyone near to claim it. But
nearby was a falcon perched on a tree and an otter on the bank of the loch and a wild dog on the land. They were hungry. The young man also felt hungry. After checking once more that no hunters
were about to claim the slain deer, Murdo Òg divided the meat between the dog, the falcon and the otter. As each animal received their portion, they promised to help Murdo Òg if he
ever needed it.

Murdo shared his portion with his black dog while his horse grazed in a field.

He rode on and came to the great castle of Campbell, “Crooked Mouth”, the chief of his clan, and ruler of all the lands in the vicinity. The chief demanded to know what the young man
sought. Murdo Òg said he wanted work, for he had refused to take anything from his father other than his clothes, sword, horse and dog. He did not want to be beholden any more than possible
to the largesse of the sea-maiden.

It so happened that Campbell “Crooked Mouth” needed a cowherd for his cattle, and so Murdo Òg accepted the job. But the grass around Campbell’s castle was so poor that
the milk-yield of his cattle was low. Murdo Òg was very conscientious, and so he decided to search further afield for good grazing than in the fields of the chief. He moved the cattle so far
that he crossed the boundaries of Campbell’s territory and came to a very fertile green glen.

It was the lad’s misfortune that the glen belonged to a giant of a man named Athach. The man was mean and of an irritable temper. When he saw Murdo Òg grazing the cattle in his
glen, he did not even hesitate to greet him, but drew his sword and rushed on the youth with a terrible battle-cry. Now the boy was nimble with his sword and soon Athach was stretched on the green
swathe with his heart pierced.

Murdo Òg saw the man’s cabin not far away and, in curiosity, he went to it, finding it deserted, for none but Athach dwelt there. Inside the house there were many great riches. It
seems that all mean men, like Athach, are able to
gather riches and keep them. Murdo was truly amazed as he gazed on them. But, being conscientious and moral, knowing they did
not belong to him, he took none of them. Indeed, he also buried Athach behind the cabin and erected a marker there, and swore that he would try to find Athach’s next of kin.